


Change the Locks Inside Your Head

by cyranothe2nd



Category: Batman (Movies - Nolan)
Genre: Crack, Drugged Sex, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Out of Character, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-20
Updated: 2012-05-20
Packaged: 2017-11-05 17:29:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,801
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/409098
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cyranothe2nd/pseuds/cyranothe2nd
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“This isn’t my doing,” Joker says. “No seriously,” to Batman’s skeptical look. “I didn’t plan this.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Change the Locks Inside Your Head

**Author's Note:**

> Ummm…this all started with 1bad_joke telling me that everyone knew Batman and Joker should be having sex and me responding with ‘It would be hilarious if all the villains in Gotham locked them in a room and made them do it.’ And then kitcatitalica enabled my madness by practically daring me to do it. AND THEN jean_c_pepper wanted first time bottom!Joker fic. Mostly, the sex is inspired by h0use_m0use’s luscious drawing here and the conversation that resulted. Ummm, also this fic contains a reference to toluenesister’s hilarious Tumblr 'Ask the Joker'. If you aren’t reading that, you should be.
> 
> Also, I am still slightly high from the drugs the doctor gave me for surgery this morning so this is probably the worst fic ever.

 

   Joker wakes up feeling like he’s got a hangover. Which would be okay, if he could remember the more fun being drunk part. Instead, he is feeling the ‘men with hammers in my brain’ portion of things, which even to a masochist is not fun times. He cracks an eye open.  
   There is a grim face looking back at him.  
   He startles comically and then clutches his head to keep his brain from falling out.  
   “What have you done?” Batman demands in a voice that is much too loud.  
   “Shhhh Bats, you’ll wake the baby,” Joker whimpers.  
   Bats doesn’t take the hint, instead grabbing him by the collar and hauling him up from the floor. “What. Have. You. Done?” he demands.  
   From this angle, Joker can see most of the room. Strange. Totally not his apartment in the Narrows. And not he and Batsy’s usual haunts, either. Joker lets his hands fall from his temples—it’s not helping anyway—and surveys the scene. They are in what looks like a hotel suite; leather furniture, pink wallpaper and big heart-shaped bed—more Batsy’s speed then his, honestly, especially the solid-looking steel door and lack of windows.  
   “Hmmm, not as homey as good ol’ Arkham,” Joker observes. “We’re locked in, I take it?”  
   He needn’t have asked. Batsy’s rage tells him all he needed to know.  
   Batman drops him back down to the floor with a look of disgust. He looks up into Batsy’s mug—his unmasked mug, Joker realizes with a start, and boy isn’t he handsome—and grins, spreading his hands widely.  
   “This isn’t my doing,” he says. “No seriously,” to Batman’s skeptical look. “I didn’t plan this.”  
   “Of course not,” a man’s voice speaks out of the silence. The voice is familiar, although Joker cannot immediately place it. “You aren’t smart enough, clown.”  
   The voice is tinny, obviously transmitted from somewhere outside the room. Joker ignores the slight on his intelligence, trying to place where it’s coming from. The aching in his head is receding little by little and he’s able to stand now, crossing the room to inspect the door. Locked, like Batman said and thick enough that he couldn’t bust through it without plastic explosives. He pats his jacket pocket and laughs to himself.  
   “What is this? What do you want?” Batman demands, still talking in that ground-glass growl, despite his bare face. The suit, Joker sees, has been tampered with as well. Batman’s utility belt and gauntlets are gone as well most of the body armor. Joker pats himself down and realizes that he is equally unarmed.  
   “What we want,” another voice continues—female this time, with a soft Southern drawl, “Is for you two to stop wrecking our city. It’s bad for business.”  
   “Soooo sorry,” Joker coos. “We’ll promise to be extra good from now on.”  
   There is a derisive snort from the other end. Batman has already located the source of the transmission—a two-way intercom on the wall near the door—and is looking it over. Joker sidles closer as well.  
   “We don’t care if you’re _good_ ,” the woman’s voice says. “So long as you’re out of our way.”  
   “So, essentially you want us to kill each other?” Batman says. Joker survey’s the room—taking in the bed, which apparently has a vibrate function. He doesn’t think killing each other is what’s on the menu.  
   “Yes,” the man’s voice answers at the same time the woman says, “No.”  
   There is a moment of crackling silence on the other end as their two captors obviously have a quick conference. Then the woman’s voice comes back.  
   “Look, kill each other or fuck each other. We don’t care. Just work it out.”  
   Joker cackles. He slides a look over to Batman, who has the wall panel off and is fiddling with wires. Joker watches him speculatively.  
   Joker’s never been sexual. Not that he doesn’t have sex, nonono. Sex is useful—he understands that sex is currency and he uses it like he would use anything else--but he doesn’t really like it, ya know? Not like _normal people_ do. He hadn’t really had any desire to do it _ummm_ recreationally until Batman crashed into his life. Suddenly, there were all these thoughts and feelings and dreams…it was unsettling. He didn’t like it. But he suddenly and inexplicably _wanted_ it.  
   Joker wasn’t used to denying himself things he wanted.  
   “Riiiight,” Batman says to the disembodied voices of their captors. “You do know that when we get out of here, we’re coming after you, right?”  
   Joker feels a brief surge of pleasure at being included in Batsy’s threats.  
   There is a clicking noise on the other end, like someone turned the comm off and then on fast. Then the woman’s voice says, “Well, one of you will. Or maybe the both of you will be too blissed out to care.”  
   Joker’s identified the man’s voice now and the thought is enough to send him into a paroxysm of glee.  
   “Ya know Crane,” he says around giggles, “This doesn’t really seem your style.” He picks up a discreet pink bottle off the nightstand and pops it open, smelling it. Lube. Hmmmm….  
   “Ah no,” Crane answers. “Not really my idea, I must admit. I just wanted to dose you both with fear toxin until you were gibbering idiots but Harley convinced me that this was a more appropriate option.”  
   Joker tries to place the name ‘Harley’ and can’t. He vaguely remembers a Harleen Quinzell who used to try to treat him, back in his brief stay at Arkham Asylum. Now that he thinks of it, she _had_ told him to call her Harley. So, Crane and the shrink, hmmm? Well, that made sense. They were both head cases HAHA.  
   Batman does something and the intercom abruptly shorts out.  
   He turns to Joker, fury etching his features into stone. “We need to find a way out of here,” he says. He’s given up on the Batman voice, thank Christ, but his words are still clipped and flat.  
   “Why? You gotta hot date, Mr. Wayne?”  
   Batman glares at him. Joker smiles back winningly. Batsy looks a bit perturbed that Joker knows his _fake_ name but shakes his head and looks away. He opens and closes the empty dresser drawers, clearly looking for a weapon or a tool. Joker isn’t too worried about it. He knows whatever Batsy finds won’t be used against him. And he’s a little gratified that Batsy’s turned his back on him, indicating that he knows Joker wouldn’t either.  
   “These are nice digs,” he says, indicating the room with a sweep of his arm. He meanders over to the bed and flops down on it, bouncing a little. “I think I might just stay.”  
   “Sure. Because Crane and…what’s her name? Harley? They sound like patient and caring individuals. I’m sure they won’t mind at all if we just wait them out.”  
   Joker gives up bouncing to level a look at Batman. “You know what you’re problem is?” he asks Batman’s back. The man has bent one of the coat-hangers from the closet and is using it to attempt to force the door. “You don’t get enough fun out of life.”  
   “And you see everything as a joke,” Batman rejoins. It’s true, so Joker doesn’t respond. Instead, he lies back on the bed, letting his feet dangle over. The bed is large, and comfortable despite the hot pink bedspread, and it’s been days since Joker’s actually slept. Not that he plans to sleep when he’s got Batsy here to play with but he does allow his eyes to drift shut, letting his ears follow Batsy’s battle with the door.  
   After a few minutes of muttered curses and metal scratching on metal, Batman gives it up and crosses the room, sinking down into the black leather couch that occupies the same wall as the bed. Joker slits his eyes open to see that Batman is watching him with an inscrutable expression on his face. He looks back and it becomes a game of chicken, each daring the other to look away first. Minutes stretch out as Joker looks into Batman’s Bruce Wayne mask and contemplates how they are going to get out of this and how much Batman will hate himself for it afterward. That thought should make his writhe with joy but Joker just finds it depressing. He’s known for a long time that Batsy subsists on fury and self-loathing and that’s usually a-okay with Joker—let dear Brucey squirm if he wants to--but he has a sneaking suspicion that they aren’t getting out of this without some _concessions_ being made. And he’d rather those concessions continue. Guilt will get in the way of that.  
   Joker huffs out a breath and rolls over, breaking eye contact. He snags the remote control from the nightstand and flips on the television.  
   They are silent for a long time. The room is comfortable (if a bit pink; Joker likes color but even he knows when enough’s enough and this room is beyond enough) but not well appointed. There is a little food in the fridge and water from the tap and, when Joker goes into the bathroom, he sees his human face staring back at him, pale and freckled and with makeup still caked in the small lines around his eyes and the twists of scar tissue on his cheeks. He bares his teeth at his reflection; no wonder Batsy was staring at him like that.  
   When he comes back out, Batsy hasn’t moved but his posture seems more relaxed. There is a half-eaten bowl of strawberries in front of him. He slides the bowl towards Joker and Joker kneels next to the coffee table and pulls it towards him, picking off the cellophane. He eats quickly, bolting down the fruit and drinking water from a champagne flute he found on the bedside table.  
   Afterward, they watch the news, Joker cackling madly at the news of terrorist attacks and IEDs—twenty US soldiers killed in Afghanistan and isn’t that just the most hilarious thing?—while Batsy lays across the couch with his eyes closed. He’s not asleep; he doesn’t trust Joker that much and besides, Joker tested to see how close he could get before Batman cracked open one baleful eye, but he’s not exactly paying attention.  
   Joker gets bored and begins to pace the room, looking for anything Bats might have missed, even though he knows it’s unlikely. There are no overhead vents, no weak spots in the door and no hollow spots in the walls. Crane and Harley thought this through. Or didn’t, since he will definitely be paying them a visit after he and Batman get out of here. He has some fun counting how many Tupperware containers it will take to store all their dismembered body parts. Then he counts again, factoring in sharing. He figures if they’re sleeping together they probably won’t mind.  
   “Will you stop pacing around like that?” Batman growls at him. He’s sitting up on the couch, looking pinched and furious per usual.  
   “Uhh, _sorry._ Was I interrupting your beauty sleep?”  
   Batman narrows his eyes. Joker waggles his eyebrows at him. He expects a huff of anger, perhaps even a blow, but instead, Batman’s mouth curls into a small smile. Joker feels something curl in his gut.  
   “Wow, you _do_ have a sense of humor!” Joker exclaims gleefully. He hasn’t stopped moving, still pacing the room. It’s not his usual manic energy, though god knows he doesn’t slow down at the worst of times and it’s not being locked in; he usually cannot tolerate incarceration but right now the company makes it bearable. No, it’s something else. There’s an itchy feeling under his skin, something that is pushing his body towards motion. He goes with it, walking the cluttered wall past the TV stand and dresser, making a right angle at the door and marking out a little box on the far side of the bed before whirling and retracing his path.  
   He doesn’t know how many times he’s traversed the room before the solid wall of Batsy’s body stops him. He comes up short and flicks a glance to Batman’s face questioningly. Batman’s brow is furrowed, his mouth drawn into a tense frown.  
   “Let’s turn that frown upside-down,” Joker says. His voice sounds rough and strange to his own ears and Batman startles and steps back before Joker’s hand can touch his face. Joker snatches his fingers back like he’s been burned. There is something crackling in the air suddenly, a peculiar tension that he cannot explain.  
   “Bats,” he says carefully. “What’s happening?”  
   “I don’t know,” Batman answers just as carefully.  
   Batman is still standing close, but he’s angled his body away, muscles tense, straining like he’s trying to keep from doing something and Joker cannot think what.  
   “Bats?” Joker reaches out again and watches bemusedly as his trembling hand closes the distance between them and lands on Batman’s arm, just above the elbow. His fingers curl around Batman’s bicep, feeling the warmth and solidness of him and it’s suddenly like a switch has been thrown and Joker’s body floods with heat. All the itchy energy under his skin suddenly pools below his belly and he notices that his cock is hard. Oh. _Ohhhhh._  
   There is a burst of clarity and thoughts chase themselves through his head: _This is what it feels like_ and _Now I know why people make such a big deal over sex_ and _Oh Christ, Batsy feels it too_ which was the best and brightest thought of them all. Batman was trembling under his hand, his breath coming in ragged gasps, his eyes wide and surprised, staring at Joker like he’d never seen him before. Nothing had prepared Joker for this moment; not the half-remembered dreams nor the half-formed desires that made him ache for _something_. This was real and immediate and so much more overwhelming then he’d thought it would be.  
   “Bats?” he says again, hating how quivery and small his voice sounds. Something softens on Batman’s face and he turns slightly and reaches out, grasping Joker’s arm with his free hand, completing the circle.  
   He’s close now, so close that Joker can feel his breath on his face when he says, “Fuck. Just…fuck. If we’re going to do this, we’re doing it right.”  
   And then he pulls Joker into a kiss that is sweet and soft and warm. Batman’s mouth flutters against his, feathering kisses onto his lips before pressing more firmly, stroking with his tongue to taste the inside of Joker’s mouth. Joker is so thrown by the gentleness that it takes long moments before he realizes that he has wrapped possessive arms around Batman and is kissing back like his life depends on it. He pulls Batman even closer and moans into his mouth, desperate and undone. Batman’s hands sooth down his back, gentling him. He pulls his mouth away to murmur, “It’s okay. It’s all right,” over and over as he plants kisses against Joker’s nose, his cheeks, his throat.  
   Joker manages to loosen and yank his tie over his head between kisses and he is fumbling clumsily with the buttons on his shirt when Batman takes pity on him, removing his hands gently and parting the fabric with ease. Joker gasps as he feels Batman’s hands trail down his chest and then up his sides. Batman pushes his jacket, vest and shirt off his shoulders and then unzips Joker pants and pulls them off, kneeling to remove one shoe, than the other. His fingers are warm and solid on Joker’s hips and Joker looks down at him, overcome by the sight of Batman on his knees in front of him.  
   Joker is burning up, out of control. He is nothing but _need, need, need_ and _want, want, want_ and if this was their plan, then Crane and Harley Quinzell are the most brilliant masterminds he’s ever come across because there is no way Joker cares about Gotham or chaos or anything else right now. He only wants more of this—more of Batman’s hands on him, more of Batman’s voice murmuring against his skin, more of _Batman._  
   “Batsy, please, I want—“ he breaks off, because he wants _everything_ , with a ferocity and focus that is stunning.  
   “I know,” Batman says, as if he really does. “But not yet.” He stands and begins removing the remains of his suit. Joker watches, fascinated, as the final pieces of black Kevlar are discarded and the mesh bodysuit underneath is peeled away. The boots take the longest to remove strangely enough, but soon Batman is naked.  
   Joker’s eyes move over him hungrily. “Nice,” he murmurs. It’s inadequate but Brucie doesn’t seem to mind. His eyes are sharp, taking in Joker’s body as well.  
   “Is that from me?” Batman asks, fingers tracing a scar on Joker’s left pectoral, just over his heart. Joker smiles because yes, it was Batsy’s little lovebite. But then, he’d left something in return. He reaches out and smoothes his fingers over a similar scar on Batman’s chest and smiles up into Batman’s face; a real, genuine smile. They stand there like that for long seconds, hands over each other’s hearts, smiling at each other.  
   It is Batman that steps closer, letting his hand slide down to Joker’s waist as his mouth moves over his. Joker comes up for air long minutes later and Batman kisses down his neck, his tongue tracing arcane patterns into Joker’s skin. Joker laughs.  
   “Ya know, this is not how I expected our first time to go,” he says.  
   “Really? What did you think it would be like?” He’s gratified that Batman’s voice sounds as shaky and breathless as his own.  
   “I don’t know. Brawling in back alleys, then face up against the bricks. More violent, ya know?”  
   Bruce straightens suddenly. He reaches out and body-checks Joker effortlessly onto the bed. Joker bounces against the pink comforter and lets out a startled laugh. Batman climbs up after him, moving Joker’s body with light touches until he is lying full-length on the bed with Batman draped on top of him and _oh fuck_ the slide of Batman’s skin against his is the best thing in the entire universe.  
   “Is that what you want?” Batman asks. His voice isn’t angry or accusing, just curious.  
   “Sometimes,” Joker admits, wriggling a little to get more contact with Batman’s body. “Don’t you?”  
   Batman strokes his hips over Joker’s, their cocks sliding against each other and they both gasp and go still for a moment. “Sometimes,” Batman says eventually.  
   “But not now,” Joker gasps.  
   “No,” Batman agrees. “Not now.”  
   His hips stroke over Joker’s again and it is perfect, it is heaven. Joker is lost to the rhythm of it, arching up against Batman’s body, urging him on. “Yes, like that. Oh yes, Batsy, that’s great, keep going.”  
   He feels pressure building at the base of his spine, his skin tingling and tight. Just a few seconds more…  
   And then Batman pulls away.  
   Joker lets out a long groan. “Are you trying to kill me?” he grouses as Batman goes up onto his knees and reaches for something on the bedside table.  
   “One rule, remember?”  
   Joker makes a scoffing noise to let Batsy know what he thinks about rules, but is cut off mid-noise by a slick finger probing at his entrance.  
   He tenses, cannot help it. His legs clamp shut, rejecting the intrusion. Batman waits him out, rubbing soothing circles into his hip, his thigh, bending down to brush his lips over Joker’s cock. Joker groans, his legs falling open again. Batman’s finger circles him teasingly, brushing back and forth and back and forth, not pushing it. Just letting Joker get used to the feeling of something there.  
   “You haven’t done this before,” Batman’s breath against his balls sends a shiver through Joker and his finger slips inside, just a fraction of an inch.  
   “N-no,” Joker’s breath hitches. The finger is moving, sliding out and then pressing in, just a little.  
   “It’s okay,” Batman soothes. “I am not going to hurt you.”  
   Joker knows this isn’t true. He’s done this to men before and, if the noise they make is anything to go by, it hurts a great deal. True, Batsy will be nicer about it than he is—and some mean part of Joker wishes he wouldn’t be, that he’s just force his way in and take what he wants—but it’s still going to hurt.  
   Joker breaths and tries to relax through the slow stretch of Batman’s finger inside of him. The pain lessens and then it’s only pressure and a vague sense of indignity. It’s begun to feel okay when Batman pulls out and comes back with two and it starts all over again—pain, then pressure, then slight enjoyment.  
   “It’s okay, it’s okay,” Batsy is saying against his skin. “Joker, I’ve got you.”  
   Joker huffs a silent laugh at how _tender_ Batsy is being, like he’s some kind of virginal girl. The huff turns into a moan as Batman adds another finger and holy God, it’s almost too much. It’s not pain—pain he can handle just fine. But it’s uncomfortable and full and it makes him feel raw and open.  
   “Fuck,” he grits out as Batman does something with his fingers and a sudden jolt of pleasure sizzles through him.  
   Batsy actually chuckles, damn him, and does it again. Joker arches this time, body overloaded with white-hot pleasure. Batsy grins down at him and removes his fingers.  
   He feels Batman’s body slide over his, Joker’s cock hitching along the muscled expanse of his chest until Batman is laying in between Joker’s legs. He reaches down and positions himself and slides slowly in.  
   Joker’s eyes fall closed and he tries to breathe through it, tries to embrace the feeling of Batman’s cock slowing filling him the way he does with pain, tries to control his reaction but he can’t. **He can’t.** It’s too much and too big and his eyes are watering, stupid tears splashing down his face as despair grips him because he wants to give this to Batsy, wants to give everything to Batsy and he _can’t._  
   He turns his face away but Batman’s hand is in his hair, petting him, soothing him. “It’s okay. Just relax, you’re doing fine.”  
   Another push. “Fuck, stop,” Joker grits out.  
   “Shhh, take it easy,” Batman says. He doesn’t halt his relentless drive into Joker’s body.  
   Joker takes a deep shuddering breath, then another. “Take it out,” he demands.  
   Batman bends down and kisses him sweetly, his cock sliding in another slow inch as he does.  
   “You’re too tense,” he says. “Relax.”  
   Joker does not know how he is supposed to relax with Batman’s cock up his ass, squeezing all the breath out of him. He slits his eyes open and glares into Batman’s flushed face.  
   “I’ll remember that when it’s your turn to bottom,” he says. “Then we’ll see—oh!” He is cut off as Bruce pushes in one last inch, bottoming out with his hips against the curve of Joker’s ass. Joker’s hand scrambles uselessly against Bruce’s sweat-slick chest, his heel catching on Bruce’s back as his world narrows to a pinprick—the feel of Batman’s cock inside of him the only thing that exists.  
   Batman is still and tense, waiting. His fingers gripping Joker’s knee are the only thing keeping Joker’s trembling leg upright and he’s resumed his slow stroking of Joker’s hair. He waits patiently for Joker to adjust.  
   Joker lies still, sweat drenching him and eyes clenched closed, waiting. It takes long minutes before Joker feels like he can breathe again. The despair and the overwhelming feeling of being invaded are receding, replaced with the need to _move_. He lets the need fill him up, whiting out everything else until he’s exploding with it, until he can’t help but arch his back just to feel the slide of Batman inside him. He hears Batsy gasp but ignores it, moving mindlessly, eyes tight closed as his body finds a rhythm.  
   Batman moves with him and they are rocking together and then Batman’s cock brushes that _spot_ and Joker cries out.  
   “Fuck, Joker—“ Batman says and shifts, his hips driving into Joker with purpose. Joker’s body is swamped with pleasure, the push and slide making him shake but he has to see, has to know what Bats looks like. He opens his eyes to see Batman arched over him, head thrown back, the tendons on his neck standing out. Broken sounds spill from his lips. The muscles of his chest and stomach bunch and flex in time with his movements and his fingertips are white from clutching Joker’s knees so hard.  
   He is absolutely beautiful like this, the most perfect thing Joker’s ever seen. He looks undone and it amazing Joker to know that he’s done this, that it is his body that Batman is lost in.  
   Batman’s eyes open suddenly and their gazes lock and Joker feels like he is drowning, blood rushing in his ears as he comes and comes and comes. Batman holds him still, pumping into him, pulsing in counterpoint to Joker’s jerking cock.  
   They lay together afterward, close but not touching. Joker wonders lazily how Batman’s going to react, once the stupor of fucking has worn off. He’s imagining world-shaking fits of self-flagellation when Batsy surprises him once again.  
   “Look,” he says, his voice still a little slow and stupid from the sex. “We need to find a way out of here.”  
   “Okay,” Joker says. It isn’t the ‘I hate you and your grinning face’ he is expecting, so that’s progress. “Then what?”  
   He’s pushing; can’t help it.  
   “I don’t know,” Batman says, running a hand through his hair. “I’m not going to join you, if that’s what you want.”  
   “Nope,” Joker agrees, popping the penultimate ‘p’ because really, Bats should know better than that. “Don’t want that.”  
   “Then what do you want?” Batman asks. His voice is weary. He looks like he’s walked a million miles and felt every one of them. Or maybe like he’s finally put down something he’s been carrying for a long time.  
   “What I’ve always wanted,” Joker says. He bounces off the bed and grabs for his clothes, dressing as he talks. “To have fun. To play with you.”  
   “To hurt me,” Batman says flatly.  
   Joker cocks his head. “Yeah, sometimes. But to adore you too.” He zips his pants and steps closer to where Batman is sitting on the bed. “To complete you, like you complete me.”  
   “And Gotham?”  
   Joker laughs. “Who cares about fucking Gotham? It’s all just backdrop, sweetheart. This,” he indicates the both of them. “Is what’s real. I don’t care about anything else.”  
   Batman is silent as Joker puts on his shoes, meticulously tying the laces in double knots and then untying and retying his tie. By the time he’s done, Batsy has got most of his gear back on and is looking thoughtfully at Joker. It’s a good look, better than the immediate rejection Joker expected. Joker beams back at him and pulls a ball of Semtex from a hidden coat pocket.  
   “Let’s go pay the doctors a visit, hmmm?”

 

  Coda

   Harley snaps the monitor off and stands, shakily. Damn, drugging the strawberries had been her best idea yet. She is really getting into the swing of this villain thing. Not only had it kept Batman and Joker from ruining her plan to rob the Gotham City Hospital, it had also yielded a very hot videotape—one she suspects she will be watching again very soon.  
   “Babe, you coming to bed,” Jonathan calls.  
   “Yeah, puddin’. Be right there,” she says. She’s glad she got hooked up with Jonathan—the man is brilliant and an absolute tiger in the sack—but she can’t help but wish she could have taken a swing at Joker. Still, it was probably for the best that she haddn’t tried. That was a heartbreak waiting to happen and besides, he only has eyes for Batman. This way, she had her man and still got to come out on top.  
   She steps into the bedroom where Jonathan is waiting, legs spread, cock at attention. His arms are handcuffed to the headboard and his eyes take her in hungrily as she moves across the room.  
   “How are the freaks doing?” he asks and then gasps as she trails her nails across his chest and over a sensitive nipple.  
   “Getting along just fine.” She bends and takes one of his nipples into her mouth. A gorgeous sound escapes him and she leans back, watching his face as he writhes. _Oh yes,_ she thinks. _I definitely made the right decision._


End file.
